


Tide

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/M, Gen, PoE Inktober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 21:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16773526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: When she realizes what is going on, it is too late to stop it. A moon, unlike the tides, cannot be turned away.(Ondra witnesses Abydon's death.)





	Tide

**Author's Note:**

> (PoE Inktober, prompt 17: Tide)

When she realizes what is going on, it is too late to stop it. A moon, unlike the tides, cannot be turned away.

Abydon goes down in the roar of flames and the rumbling of the quaking earth and his own laughter. Appropriate, in a way. The Smith reforged into the very matter he used to construct the world around him.

Ondra watches, wishing she could forget, but her deep waters keep all. Later, she will find proper words to tell it, words in the languages of gods and kith that will not hurt so much. Words that they will find beautiful, inspiring. Some things should be forgotten, some bones should be buried. There is only one kind of pain that can be remembered; bittersweet, one that not only damages but also heals. But simple, crude memories… those are salt rubbed into the wound.

She raises her waters, guides them through the veins of the land, up, up, until they cover all, until they cradle the broken body and glowing soul; the softest shroud. In the end, he loved their children – their flesh and blood – more than her, more than himself… More than their purpose – for that, he had to pay.

That was what she loved him for – being steadfast, constant. But even the earth can be broken and remade; he understood that, but failed to see that is the basic principle of life. Rhythm, not like that of a hammer in a forge, but of the sea waves, high and low tide. Parents making sacrifices for their children. New generations over old.

It hurts, but all pain can be washed away with enough of her water. Kith pain. Gods grieve differently; something that happens in minutes is too fast for them to truly process. And then, as suddenly as it started, it is over.

Ondra wishes she had decided to leave the entire domain of memory to Woedica. But she wanted power, and there is almost as much power in forgetting as in remembering, if one chooses wisely.

Splinters of Abydon will live on, but his past cannot. He will remember his purpose, reforge himself in a different form… just not complete. But he will never know. She will hold those cracked parts of him close, hidden from his sight; her only keepsake. She will take care of his creations as if those were her own children. She will make certain that his body will not be disturbed, that it will be given the respect it deserves.

She will never let the world learn of his mistake. The gods are not supposed to sacrifice themselves for mortals; it should be the other way round. They are not supposed to offer their lives – existence far beyond what the kith can comprehend. Their purpose is to…

…to make the world safer for mortals. To guide and guard. To watch over time and history.

Ondra gently runs tendrils of freezing water like hands across burnt skin, cold now. So pointless. So touching. Still, a mistake.

Mortals are a sea, their generations like tides. Children, grandchildren. There is always another wave.

They have dried their own ocean to water the world, leaving only salt and bones buried deep in the sand. She could not let that go to waste, not even for love. 


End file.
